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Bakersfield Erotic Story
A e-mail from her former boss leads Michelle to cheat on her fiance for the first time.
Torrid Affair?
It began by e-mail.Michelle was thrilled when she saw a message from Paul in her in-box. The subject line read “Torrid affair?” That Paul. He was such a joker. He had been her supervisor at the company where she’d been an intern; the whole time they’d worked together he had constantly been making little sexual comments to her, telling her how good she looked. Clearly against the company’s sexual harassment policy, but she hadn’t wanted to get Paul in trouble, especially when he treated her so much better than the other interns, always giving her the best assignments. She knew his little comments were harmless; besides, he was happily married. A few weeks ago she had finished her internship and moved on to a better paying job, and she actually missed his compliments and innuendo. No one in the stodgy, conservative company where she now worked would ever say the things Paul had said to her.
She clicked open the e-mail. Well, this was a surprise. Paul was quitting his job, he wrote, for a better job with another firm. He knew she’d been using him as a reference in her job search and he wanted her to have his new address and phone number.
“And now that we’re not working together,” the e-mail ended, “how about having a torrid affair with me?”
Michelle chuckled to herself as she hit reply. That was so like Paul, always saying he wanted her when they both knew nothing could ever happen between them. He was married; she’d met his pretty blonde wife at the office Christmas party. And she was engaged: although she hadn’t seen her fiance, a Navy lieutenant, in months; he was at sea on an exercise and wouldn’t be home for another few weeks. Besides, at 32 Paul was ten years older than her and she’d never really thought of him as anything but her boss.
But if he could make jokes, she could too. “You book the motel,” she wrote. “I’ll bring the whipped cream.” She clicked send and continued reading the rest of her e-mail.
A half-hour later she had finished with her mail and was about to shut down her computer when she noticed another new message. It was from Paul. He must have liked her little joke, she thought as she opened the message.
“Michelle,” it began. “I know you’re joking about the motel and the whipped cream, but I wish you were serious. I have to confess, when we were working together I loved to look at your body, especially your breasts. They are just so perky!
I know you are engaged, and I’m married, but would go consider a rendezvous with me? I will understand if you say no, but I have to ask. I’ve never thought of cheating on my wife before, but there’s just something about you. Please write me back and let me know.”
Michelle slumped back in her chair. She felt so many emotions simultaneously. She was shocked; Paul must have been serious with his little comments that she’d taken for jokes. But as a woman, she couldn’t help but feel flattered. He liked her breasts, did he? At 22, Michelle was so recently out of her skinny, gawky teenage years--she’d been a late bloomer--that she still had trouble understand what an attractive young woman she was, tall, slender and pretty, with her short dark hair and brown eyes. She still thought her breasts were too small, not understanding that their perfect shape and perky firmness more than made up for their size. She felt a little thrill at the idea that she was sexy enough to make a married man want to stray.
But then she felt indignant. How dare he think she would cheat on Michael, her fiance? Yes, he did spend months away from her, but it was part of his job, and she loved him anyway. . . and who did he think he was, asking her flat-out to have an affair by e-mail? What happened to drinks, and dinners, and dancing? How can he think I’m just going to say yes? Michelle wondered. Shouldn’t he have to work to get me? Don’t I deserve to be romanced, seduced?
And then she remembered how he’d treated her at work, so much better than the other interns. She’d thought that she got the best assignments because she was the most talented. That he respected her abilities. Obviously she’d been wrong; he’d clearly given her the best assignments because he wanted her!
She was fuming as she hit reply. But she gathered in her thoughts. It had to be a bit embarrassing for him, confessing his feelings like that. As offended as she was, she didn’t want to hurt him.
“Paul,” she wrote. “I’m very flattered that you find me so attractive. I like you a lot as a person. But I don’t want to have an affair with you. I could never cheat on Michael. He’s good to me and he doesn’t deserve that. I hope you will understand. Michelle.”
She clicked send, and then quickly shut down the computer and walked away. She didn’t want to read his reply just now.
Over the next few days, she couldn’t stop thinking about Paul. Her logical mind told her she should feel offended by his offer. But she couldn’t help but get a little thrill inside when she thought about him and his attraction to her. It was flattering, damn it! Eventually she read his reply to her rejection. He was sorry if he’d offended her, he wrote. But he wanted her so badly, and if she ever changed her mind, please call. She actually felt a little sorry for him as she read his words. Poor man, attracted to a younger woman he couldn’t have. . .
But why couldn’t he? The thought came into her mind. Why not? She was so lonely. She hadn’t seen Michael in months, and his occasional phone calls and letters were not enough to fill the void inside her.
She’d never had an affair. She’d been lucky in love, or so she told herself, having had only two relationships with men before she met Michael. She wasn’t a prude, she told herself, she’d had sex with all three of them: but only after several months of dating, always taking things slowly and carefully, kissing them on one date, maybe a little fondling on the next, building slowly up towards intercourse. She’d never had a one-night stand, never gone to bed with a stranger. Most of the time she didn’t regret not having the experience. She and Michael had something better, she told herself, the special bond between people who loved each other completely, that made their lovemaking better than any one-night stand could ever be.
But all the while she told herself these things, she knew she envied her friends with their stories of flings and conquests, and her sex life was what it was because it simply had worked out that way, not from any principles. She knew she’d always wanted a wild, crazy fling, and never had the chance. And now she did.
Alone in her bedroom with nothing but her own thoughts, she gasped at the realization. She wanted to have an affair. And she had a man who wanted to have one with her. But. . . she had rejected him days ago. He had said to call if she changed her mind, but how could she? How could she go crawling back to Paul after she’d so firmly but politely told him no? She just couldn’t, she knew. And so she made a resolution to herself: she wouldn’t go to Paul and say she’d changed her mind. But if for some reason he asked again, she would say yes.
Her heart pounded with the significance of what she’d decided. She had told herself that she was willing to cheat on Michael! But at the same time, she doubted he’d ask again. She knew the male ego could only take so much rejection, and she doubted Paul would risk being turned down a second time.
Her decision made, she put Paul out of her mind and continued with her life. She didn’t think of Paul again until that weekend. It was a long holiday weekend, and most of her friends had gone on a camping trip. She’d turned down their offer to go along; there were too many couples and she’d only feel lonely without Michael. Still in her housecoat on Saturday morning, she decided to check her e-mail. Maybe someone had sent her a message inviting her to a barbecue or something. . .
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her in-box. There was a message from Paul! It was titled “Last Chance” and she clicked on it quickly.
“Maybe I’m just asking to be shot down again,” Michelle read, “But my wife is away with her friends, and I have the condo to myself all weekend. You’re welcome to join me if you want. Just call before you come over.”
She started to tremble. Here it was, the second chance she hadn’t expected. She had told herself she would say yes if he asked again and now he had. Her courage left her; she wanted to ignore the message. Could she really cheat on Michael?
“I wanted this,” she reminded herself out loud. She didn’t bother to reply to the message, just closed it and turned from the computer.
Well, if she was going to this she wanted to do it right. She spend the next few hours preparing: a long soak in the tub to leave her skin soft and silky. Shaving her legs and armpits, but she left her pubic hair wild, remembering some comment Paul had made one day about liking women who were natural down there. She couldn’t do much with her close-cropped brown hair, but she applied her make-up carefully. Smoky dark eye shadow, mascara to emphasize her already long dark lashes, a sultry dark red lipstick. Being a practical person, she didn’t own much sexy lingerie, but she chose a lacy black bra and matching panties from her meagre selection, then black stockings and a matching garter. Finally, she dressed, choosing a filmy, clingy blouse and a long slim skirt, slit up the side to show her shapely legs. She surveyed herself in the mirror and smiled at the sexy creature she saw looking back at her. If Paul found her attractive, having only seen her in her conservative office clothes, he was going to be wowed tonight.
She looked at her watch: it was seven. A good time to call, she decided: he’d probably offer to take her out for dinner. She looked up his number in the phone book and dialled. Damn! The machine. She left a message, a breezy, professional-sounding message, asking him to call. She didn’t want to leave a sexy message; what if plans had changed and his wife came home?
Well, she was hungry and she didn’t want to wait by the phone for a man who may or may not offer to buy her dinner. She got in her car and drove to a nearby restaurant. She ate alone, enjoying the stares of the men who saw her looking her very best. She could see the lust in their eyes and she realized she could go home with any one of them. Even without Paul, she could still have the wild fling she wanted. . .
No, that hadn’t been her agreement with herself. It was Paul who made her realize she wanted a one-night stand; it wouldn’t be fair to have it with anyone but him. She paid her bill and drove back home.
The flashing light on the answering machine greeted her. It was Paul. His message, like hers, was brisk and professional in tone.
Why was she so nervous as she dialled the number? She wanted this. . . he answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Michelle,” he said, recognizing her voice instantly. “Music to my ears!”
They made small talk for a few minutes, chatting about his new job, her new job, their former co-workers. Finally, he brought up the real reason for the call.
“So are you coming over?”
Damn him, he was so direct. Just like in his e-mail. Why couldn’t he ask her out for drinks, anything, so she could pretend to herself she wasn’t agreeing right now to have sex with him?
“I’m thinking about it,” she lied. She couldn’t tell him how eager she was to be with him.
“Is there anything I can say to help you make up your mind?” His voice was quiet, husky. She giggled nervously.
“I just wish I could know for sure that I’m not going to regret it later. Aren’t you worried about that? Aren’t you worried about hurting your wife?”
“No,” he said. “I love my wife and we have a wonderful life together. But I want to do this for me, separate from all that. And it can’t hurt her if she doesn't know.”
She was quiet. His words were simple, and obvious, but they made sense. It couldn’t hurt Michael, either, if he didn’t know.
“Michelle,” he continued, “I just want you so bad. You are so beautiful. Just to be intimate with you. . . it would be so amazing.”
Again, his words were simple, but the effect they had on her. . . she could hear the lust in his voice. Had any man ever wanted her so badly? She could feel her body starting to respond, the wetness starting between her legs.
“Michelle,” he said. “I’m going to hang up the phone now. I’m going leave my door unlocked while I take a shower and shave and then I’m just going to kick back at home. I hope I see you there.”
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t know where you live.”
She wrote down the address, a street she didn’t recognize. Then she hung up the phone and stood still for a moment. Her heart was pounding. She was about to cheat on Michael for the first time. And the very thought was making her horny.
She paused a moment to find his street on the map. It was only a short drive away, but she’d never been in that neighbourhood. She got back into her car and headed over.
She kept her hands firmly clasped on the wheel to keep them from shaking. I am driving to a man’s house to have sex with him, the thought kept running through her head. She prayed she wouldn’t have an accident, knowing that her attention wasn’t on her driving.
She found the address easily, a townhouse on a street of many identical townhouses. The door was unlocked and she let herself in.
She didn’t know what she was expected from the house; that it would somehow mirror his personality, direct and forceful. Instead, the furnishings were tasteful but generic. Every available surface was covered with knickknacks and family photographs. His wife’s tastes, she guessed. A huge picture of Paul and his wife at their wedding hung over the fireplace. Just to shove it down my throat that we’re both cheating, she thought.
She made her way up the stairs and turned into a den at the top. Ah, this room was definitely Paul’s, she though, the shelves covered with sports memorabilia. She recognized a few of the posters and books from his old office when they had worked together. An expensive camera lay on one of the shelves. She picked it up and was turning it over in her hands when she heard a sound. She spun around.
There in the doorway was Paul, wearing only boxer shorts, his black hair wet from the shower. “Michelle!” he said, surprised, grabbing a t-shirt which lay on the nearby couch. “You came!”
She blushed, not expecting to see him without his clothes off, at least not so soon. He quickly pulled on the t-shirt, but she’d already gotten a good look at his stocky, powerful body.
He sat on the couch and gestured for her to take a seat on the chair opposite him.
“So, how are you? Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not sure. I’m shaking, I’m so nervous.”
“Well, let’s help you relax.”
He took her by the hand she was afraid he was going to take her into the bedroom. Her previous excitement had dissipated and now she was only nervous. She hadn’t been with anyone but Michael in so long. What would it be like? What if she wasn’t any good? She knew Paul had been fantasizing about her for so long and she didn’t want to let him down. . . she realized they weren’t heading into the bedroom but into the living room. She sat on the couch. He went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of wine. Then he turned on the TV, and started searching through the channels until he found a movie that was just beginning.
“We’ll watch this for now,” he said. “If you want, you can go home when it’s over.” He sat on a chair, next to the couch where she was sitting but a respectful distance away.
The movie was a lame comedy, something she’d normally never watch. But she realized he’d made a good choice. As she sipped the wine and watched the stupid characters, even laughing every now and then, she felt herself relax, and she realized it felt good just to be in his company.
The movie ended and the credits flowed across the screen. Before she could wonder what would happen now, she felt his fingers, lightly caressing the back of her neck. She tingled with his touch.
“Are you still nervous?” he asked. Then without waiting for an answer, in one movement he was on the couch and kissing her. She closed her eyes, letting herself think of nothing but the gentle pressure of his lips on hers. He tasted warm and sweet, like a flavoured liquor. She relaxed into his arms. She was kissing another man - and she found herself liking it.
The kiss was brief and he pulled away. “Well?” he asked. “Do you want to go home?”
“Not yet,” she said, and he pulled her back into his arms, kissing her deeper and harder. His tongue found hers and intertwined delightfully. She felt the warmth starting between her legs again and her nipples strained against the soft fabric of her bra, wanting to be touched. It had been months since she’d last been with Michael; she’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be with a man.
Michelle expected a man as direct in his speech and actions as Paul to be direct sexually as well. But he wasn’t. He kissed her for a long time, and she wondered when he would do more. Eventually, he unbuttoned her blouse, slowly and deliberately. Then he reached around behind and undid her bra. He saw his eyes sweep over her breasts with their soft round curves, her pink nipples standing firm, desperately craving his touch.
She gasped as he touched them, the warmth between her legs turning into a wet heat. He rubbed them, but oh-so-gently, as if she would break. She was used to Michael’s firm touch, and she thought this gentleness would never arouse her the way Michael’s more aggressive pinches and squeezes did. But as he stroked them, one in each hand, and she lay back against the couch, savouring the explosions of feeling that spread across her body. Each pass of his hand across her breast she felt in her crotch, increasing the heat down there. She knew her panties were already soaked with her juices.
He took his hands away from her breasts long enough to unzip her skirt and slide it down, then he tugged off her panties. She lay there before him, naked but for her garter and stockings and heels. Her cheeks were flushed with the wine and her arousal, and she knew she looked magnificent.
“So what do you think?” she asked, gesturing to her body. “As good as you were imagining?”
“Better.”
He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. He brought her close to him, pressing her against his muscular body, and kissed her again, as gently and slowly as before. As he kissed her, he continued to fondle her breasts, increasing her excitement with each stroke - and his too. She could feel his erection hard against her through his shorts. He was obviously well-endowed, and she wondering if he wanted her to touch it.
Of course he did, she thought. But she was felt paralysed in his arms, unable to do anything but breathe, and that heavily and laboured. With Michael she was always the one in charge, the one making every move. But with Paul, she wanted nothing so much as to just relax while he had his way with her.
His way was patient for a man who had been lusting after her so long, she thought. She’d expected him to throw her down and fuck her long ago. But she was content to let him take things at his own pace.
At last, he pulled back onto the couch. Finally, she thought, craving the feel of his big, hard cock in her. But no. Instead he knelt between her legs and buried his face between her thighs.
Well, she wasn’t going to complain! His tongue immediately found her clitoris and he began to lick with slow, deliberate strokes. She’d never had it like this before. Michael was frantic when he went down on her, licking and sucking at a frenzied pace. This slow, gentle motion would never get her off.
She was wrong. Soon, very soon, she felt the familiar tightness inside her, a heat that began to build, slowly and steadily with each pass of his tongue. At what seemed like no time at all she felt herself climax, and she moaned her appreciation of his skilled tongue. She rode out the waves of pleasure washing over her body. She could never give herself an orgasm like this and it had been so long. . .
As the sensations abated, she fell back against the couch, feeling good but still craving him inside her. Surely he would fuck her now. . . but no, he bent down between her legs and started to lick the same way.
What was wrong with him? Didn’t he want to fuck her? Wasn’t that what all men want? It was what she wanted, more than anything. . . she placed her hand on his cheek, gently turning his face up towards hers.
“What about you? What do you want?” she asked.
“I’m doing it,” he replied.
As much as she wanted him, she was powerless as he returned to his slow, deliberate licking. She felt the flames rising within her once again and in moments she was moaning again, this orgasm more intense than the last.
Slowly the feeling passed and she became aware of him again, watching her. He was smiling, and she realized she’d never seen him smile before. He was always so serious at work. . . it made her feel good to know how much he was enjoying pleasuring her.
He slipped off his boxers and t-shirt and finally she got her look at him. He was large, larger than Michael, and she smiled at the thought of the pleasure that big dick would bring her in just a few moments. But one small detail. . . she grabbed her purse from the table beside the couch and found a condom, which she tossed to him. He took it without a word. She liked sex better without one, of course, and she rarely used them with Michael anymore. But she and Paul hadn’t talked about their past experiences and she knew she couldn’t take any chances.
She grew even more excited as she watched him put on the condom. It barely fit over his huge girth. Finally ready, he slowly slipped into her. As wet as she was, it was a tight fit. After all, it had been months since she’d last been fucked, and Paul was much bigger than Michael. He fucked her as slowly and deliberately as he’d licked her, and she felt herself stretching to accommodate him. He continued in his slow, easy manner, his eyes closed in pleasure.
The slow fucking was torture. She wanted more, wanted him to pound her fast and furious, wanted to do something to break his control, to change the slow steady pace he’d been using on her all night. But she found she couldn’t speak, so instead she started pumping her own hips and grabbed his buttocks, digging her nails in as she encouraged him to abandon himself to his lust.
At last he got the hint and started to fuck her in earnest, thrusting himself in all the way, pulling back only to slam against her again and again. She let out a cry with each thrust, louder and louder as she felt herself approaching orgasm again.
“This is too exciting. . . I can’t last,” he gasped. But she was lost in her own pleasure and couldn’t reply. As she came for her third time that night, she heard him moan and knew he was cuming, felt the extra warmth inside her as he filled the condom with his hot semen. She clung to him as they both shook with the intensity of their climaxes. Eventually, the moment passed. He slipped out of her before he could soften and left the room. She heard him flush the condom down the toilet and he was back.
“Thank you. Thank you so much, Michelle, for fulfilling my fantasy.”
“No, Paul, thank you,” she said. And she meant it.
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